Amachimaru: Love is a Long, Thin,
by OrochimaruYimang
Summary: I shuddered. My whole body shook. His touch - his scent - his everything - sent me over the edge. And - especially - that tongue. Oh, yes, that tongue. That long, thin, wet appendage on my long, thin, and yearning... (READ MORE TO FIND OUT! Warning: future lemons, citrus, shounen-ai) [Orochimaru x OC] WARNING: [NONCON, EROTIC HORROR]
1. Chapter 1

I'm not really a man of love. Never really looked at life in this way; love wasn't really an emotion - if I could call it that - that I was particularly familiar with. It's not that I've never wanted it - I think we all have, sometime or another - but there just wasn't very much time for it. Chunin at 10. Jounin at 14. ANBU at 18. Captain at 20. My entire life has been spent for Konoha. My body, my blood, my soul - for Konoha. We're trained not to be sentimental. Sentiment - this word of destruction - could grow to be stronger than the best shinobi. If we were rocks, sentiment was the incessant pounding of waves. If we were blades, sentiment was the rust. And, unfortunately, we shinobi are blades. We _are _tools used for destruction, and other shinobi aren't what we fear most. It's sentiment. Burn it, rip it, cut it, shred it, _remove _it at all costs. Sentiment was a tumour, and we were the hosts. So, I guess I lied. It's not that there's no time. It's - put bluntly - because there's no sentiment. 

* * *

><p>"Amachi-sama."<p>

Hands on right knee. Left knee bent. Head down. Eyes to the ground. False respect for a woman 60 years out of her prime. Grandma, we called her. One of the 12 elders of Konoha, and a damn pointless one at that. What's the point of a shinobi who can't even bathe by herself? That's right - no point. A chore - a bother - to kneel before her, present her the report. Where the bloody hell was that big-breasted woman, anyways? A Hokage like that would serve her purpose better being a tavern wench. Her _and _that pink haired assistant. Woman inherently have more tools than men. Breasts. Ass. Hips. Legs-

"Yimang."

I sighed to myself. _Most _women had more tools. I discounted the gravelly, sand paper voice as a tool. I stand up, presenting her the report. Our fingers touch. I don't make a move. ANBU were trained. Torture was nothing. Keep the mind clear, the soul pure. Cleanse your thoughts. Close your - the wrinkled finger stretched over the backside of my palm.

I flinch.

She began to talk; I rubbed my hand. How often was I wrong? I reconsider my thoughts. Perhaps old women actually had more tools than the young ones.

* * *

><p>Black leather cover, small gold S. Oh, Konoha have mercy. ANBU S-rank mission. I flip open the cover: "Eliminate Threat: Orochimaru." I frowned. Surely this is wrong. Run through by Konoha's missing-nin. Right through the mouth by the Uchiha's katana. So... what the bloody hell was this? I read on. Holy... holy Uzumaki. Orochimaru ate Uchiha. Then spat him out. Then they both walked away. I scratch my head. What?<p>

* * *

><p>3 masks: fox, rabbit, owl. ANBU masks. It's like it's dress up day... every day. I fidgeted. Four ANBU to take out the snake. Four. Not five, not six, not seven, but great bloody fucking four. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. How many teams were sent after the nine tails? ... every single one of them. Orochimaru might well be a goddamn tailed beast if he wouldn't be killed by the Uchiha. And Ms. Wrinkle Fingers wants to kill him... with four ANBU. I sigh. This is what happens when you put senile women in an elder's place. I should have suggested she be our fourth member instead of this new ANBU. I glance over at her. Yugao. Wife of Hayate; wife of the coughing man. Wife of the proctor, wife of ... I sigh again. Nothing ever rhymed properly. Oh, but in this case, "four ANBU" rhymes with "gets killed by Orochimaru" pretty nicely. I spit at the ground and toss a kunai into the air. The shadow lines up perfectly.<p>

"Time to go. Let's hunt."

We're four blurred figures dashing through the night in the forest. I raise my hand; we land on a particularly thick branch. Seconds later, Yugao lands next to me with a small "thunk". I turn and scowl; she gives me an apologetic look. How do we kill the snake when we can't even be quiet?

"Remember the mission." I look at each one of them pointedly. "Fox, Rabbit - you cover left side. Owl, you're with me."

Three heads bob up and down. "Let's go. I'm sure Orochimaru has already prepared a welcome party for us. Let's find out what it is." We shoot off in a blur.

* * *

><p>Kunai poised. Silence. The fucking statue spoke to us. <em>Spoke.<em>

_Welcome... I ssee you've... found me... I'm... hardly ssurprised..._

Right now, I don't know which I'd rather choose. The cold, pale flesh that Orochimaru was, or the wrinkled skin of Grandma. This is a choice that needs deep thought. Deep, deep thought. It'd take time. I sigh. Nothing ever goes right. I look over at Yugao. She looks at me. I slowly raise two fingers and shake them at the entrance: ANBU signals for "Captain first, you second."

I kick open the door. Press my back against the wall. It's cold. It's slimy. It's... wait, slimy? Fuck!

"Yugao! Mission Red!" I push myself off the wall, but it's way too late. Slimy, sticky skin awaits me. I press my hands together. Katon! The room lights up in flames, but the wet, sticky atmosphere never leaves. It's as if... his existence contaminates the very air. Snakes are coiled around my arms. Around my legs. There's one wrapping around my neck. ANBU? We never had a chance. I look over at Yugao. She's on the ground. And... Orochimaru stands next to her. He's smiling. My eyes close.

Silence. The one thing I've hated as an ANBU. It's deafening. It's as if one could see it. See the silence around me. Hn... smell it? Perhaps that's taking it too far. But it's there. Oh, yes, it's there. And it's condemning me to this place. Useless, futile mission. Pathetic, weak captain. I hope Yugao isn't dead. Fox, Rabbit, I hope they're okay. Only... I know they're not. I'm okay. But it's dark. If one can see silence, one could probably hear the darkness as well.

"Ack! Fuck!" Blinding light. I keep my eyes shut. Try to move my hands, my legs. I'm tied down. Drugged, perhaps. All I know is that I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe? Open my mouth. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Again. Do it again. Cough. Spit the bile out of my mouth. Open my eyes. I squint. He's there, standing in front of me in all his glory. He's there, watching me with that coy look. His eyes are black. Pure onyx black. It's the darkness you can hear. You can probably smell this one, though. And... dear Kami, he's naked.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Really weird shit going on over here.

I was never good with names. Perhaps it'd be better to have said "it", instead of "him". Perhaps it was a she. I'll never know. I do know, however, that it was naked. The blade of Kusanagi. The glint of steel makes my eyes close again. I swallow. My mouth is dry. So is my throat. I open my eyes again; we're alone. Kusanagi, Orochimaru, and me. The room appears to be different, too. The walls are still wet and slimy, and the stench reeks of... death. Skin is littered on the ground. Give the man the benefit of the doubt. It's not human skin. It's snake skin. I pause in my thinking. Maybe... it's his snake skin. I look at him. He looks back at me. He licks his lips. Holy, that's a fucking long tongue. Licks his lips? That's an understatement. That pink little shit can lick his goddamn nipples if he wanted them to.

"You're awake."

I look around me. "So I am," I reply dryly. "So are you." I'm sitting in some kind of chair. My back hurts. My arms and legs seem to be tied down by chakra.

"I imagine you have many questions."

"None." I have _so _many questions.

He licks his lips. "Then I imagine you won't mind what happens to your subordinates, yes?" He snaps his fingers. Rabbit drops from somewhere in the ceiling. There's a large bloody "X" across his chest. He isn't breathing. I think he's dead.

I grunt at him. "You speak as if you haven't killed him yet."

"Hn. Death is merely the start of immortality." He prods at the corpse on the ground with his foot. He nods thoughtfully. "Sometimes, however, death just means you die." He smiles. He walks over to me, lifts my chin up with the tip of his sword. Licks his lips again.

"Let's try this again. Do you have any questions?" Silk. That's the word I was looking for. The smooth, slick bastard probably killed everyone already.

"Are they dead?" Kami, my lips are parched.

He cooes at me. "Is the ANBU Captain worried about his team?" The blade pushes my chin up more. He snaps again. Yugao topples from somewhere in the wall. I grimace. Her body is severed in half. The sword drops. He sits down on her head.

His nose wrinkles up, as if something unpleasant was stuffed on his upper lip. "This one," he says, eyeing Yugao cautiously, "tried to kill my snake. I asked her to pet it, but apparently you ANBU don't undergo language training. So, I had to kill her."

"Death is the start of immortality." I mimic him. Fuck it, I'm as good as dead.

This is unexpected. He grins at me. Licks his lips again. "Good, good..." he looks at me. Great, I just earned an invitation to pet his snake. "You're learning."

"The last one," he says, standing up, "requires some blood to bring out." He looks at me casually. "Want to try it?" Without warning, the blade sinks into my thigh. I bare my teeth and hiss. He's fast. Much faster than I expected. He flicks the blood into the ground, draws some kind of summoning jutsu. Smacks his pale hand on the ground. Flings out Fox. I'm horrified.

He's not dead.

I wish he is.

He has no arms.

Well, he does.

Rather, he has no arms attached to his shoulderblades. Instead, he has one bloody arm - I can't tell if it's the right or the left one - protruding from his rear. The other one is gone. His legs are bent 180 degrees. His mouth has some sickly looking liquid in it. It's dripping. Tap, tap, tap. That's not the liquid. That's Orochimaru's feet. He looks at me impatiently, expectantly, "Done yet?" Apparently he wants to discuss my teammate.

I don't say a word.

Instead, Fox does. "Y-Y-Yi-Yimang..." Whimpering. Stuttering. Crying. The liquid drools over his chin. "H-Help... me..." Orochimaru is brutal. Produces the second arm from thin air. Now I know. The hand up Fox's rear is the right one. Orochimaru smacks him across the head with the left one.

"Shut up, or I'll disintegrate the arm in your ass, too." He paused. "Along with your ass."

I blink, instead. Scratch that. I have no idea which arm is inside of Fox right now. Orochimaru looks over at me:

"We... played a game."

"Dangerous game."

Fox lies on the ground, unmoving. Unnatural movements of his chest. How is he conscious?

"I have... a proposition for you, ANBU captain." He smiles. It's a horrifying smile. He knows I can't say no - to whatever it is. "I'll play a game with you, too. This one," he drawls, dragging the finger of the arm he's holding across Fox's face, "lost. Too soon. Too _easily._ I want a challenge."

I swallow. Dear Konoha, I really need water. "...and what if -"

A blinding movement. I will my head to my shoulder. Kusanagi flings past me, the blade extending before crashing into the wall behind me. "Or," he says, smiling thinly, "you can die. With the rest of your team."

I don't argue anymore. He's glad. He takes my silence as acceptance. Damn bastard. "You will have... four chances." He holds up the arm. I still can't tell if it's Fox's or not. "Two arms, two legs. Four chances. Four strikes," his voice slithers on the last word, "and you're out." His foot is poised over Fox's head.

"Don't." My voice doesn't waver.

The foot goes down. Sickening, crushing. Surprising. The sound is wet. I wouldn't know. I don't make it a habit to crush people's skulls. I don't look away. Fox is a mess. Then again, so is Yugao. So is Rabbit. I will be too, by the time it's all over.

"So. Will you, mighty ANBU captain, accept...?"

I narrow my eyes. Curse again. Piece of shit. "What's the game?"

"That," he says, laughing softly, "is a wonderful question." He's next to me in a flash. The katana is poised over the wound he made. The room darkens. Uzumaki give me strength.

"Resist. Don't make a sound... Or you might find yourself on strike four in seconds." The blade sinks back into the flesh. Grit my teeth. Clear my head. Focus. Focus. Focus! The one uneven spot on the ground. Yes. I can do this. The blade twists, turns like a worm burrowing into the ground. Silence, save for my now uneven breathing. The blade goes all the way through. A soft thunk as steel meets wood. For crying out loud - only, I can't - the guy really wants to kill me. I wonder if this is what Ibiki meant by torture - only there's no interrogation involved.


	3. Chapter 3

Loss of blood. Purple, red flesh. Cuts. Burns. Hurt. My left arm had been crushed. Pain. I open my eyes. It's a blur. I close my eyes. Better. Focused darkness. Soothing, calming.

Water. The slight salt content in it burns my wounds. Don't make a sound. Don't move. Don't do anything but endure. The water wakes me. Clarity. Clear. My eyes open. He's there. The sword is bloody; the once beautiful sheen is now crimson.

"Pain," he says, "before pleasure." Smiling. Snake smiles. Snake eyes. What the hell does that mean?

I find the bonds loosen. I bend my fingers. Ouch. Too long since I last moved them. How long? Much too long. I stand up. Nauseous. Sit back down. Get ready. Prepare to move. But it's no use. I'm blacking out again. My eyelids are closing down, fast. Keep your eyes on him. He can't be trusted.

Smiling. Disgusting. "Sleep, my ANBU captain. Sleep."

* * *

><p>I'm lying down. How long since I've been out? I've been moved. The ground isn't wet, isn't slimy. Not sticky, not cold. It's warm. Soft. Probably lied here for a while now. Hn... Surgeon table. Knowing Orochimaru, I'm probably right. I open my eyes. Two circles of light on the ceiling. I can't move. My eyes can, though. I'm naked.<p>

It's cold. A cool draft blows into me. Me. Me. _Little _me. Only - it's not so little. It's ramrod straight, a little flagpole without its flag. Why am I naked? Tons of questions now. This isn't right.

He steps into the light. There he is. Orochimaru. Curse that piece of crap. I won't be his stupid lab rat. No more.

"Kill me." My voice is hoarse. Throaty. I presume that it's from the hours of forced silence.

"Why, how could I do that?" He's grinning. Frighteningly. "You're only on strike one. And the game is almost over. It's time, ANBU, for your reward."

It's fast. Kusanagi. The tip is aimed directly at Mr. Flagpole. I go rigid. Can't move. Won't move. Don't move. It's a little ticklish, to be honest. The blades goes up; it nears the tip. It's not satisfying. If he wants to turn me into a woman, he better do it faster.

I say it again. "Kill me." ANBU voice: commanding, unwavering.

He smiles. The blade continues. I can't help it. My body reacts to the dangerous, exhilarating ... pleasure? No, torture. A vein throbs. He presses the flat side against me. I hiss... it's... Kami, what the hell is going on? Cold steel pressed against my warm cock. The contrast creates a feeling of exuberance. It involuntarily twitches. Gods, this isn't right.

He whispers to me, a chilling, soft voice near my ear. "Do you... perhaps... enjoy thiss?" His voice hisses at the end, curling into the snake-like voice he's associated with. ANBU training. We're tough. We're strong. A little bit of this crap can't shake my resolve. I won't give this snake even the slightest bit of pleasure from beating me. Because he won't.

Apparently, he doesn't need to beat me.

He raises his hand. It's pale; whitish, greyish colour along those long, slender fingers. Feminine-like. Immaculate, perfect nails. What kind of self-dignifying shinobi willingly gets a manicure? Snakes, apparently. "You are playing... wonderfully." He walks towards me. Slow motion. Withdraws the blade. Puts one hand on my thigh - slides it up. It doesn't touch. He looks at me. Onyx darkness surrounding the red slits. They meet my own brown eyes. Waiting. Waiting. _Waiting. _His hand moves.

Grips the base of my cock.

* * *

><p>Waiting, for some people, is a difficult thing. After knowing what will happen, the mere act of waiting can invoke many odd habits. Stuttering. Some people tap their foot, shake their legs. Others still use the bathroom more readily. Some people, on the opposite spectrum, believe that waiting <em>without <em>knowing is far worse. These people are those afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the darkness of their fate, their future. Me? I'm neither of those people. Waiting is a common thing for me. Spying missions. Ambush missions. Assassinations. Patience is key. For me, the worst is what happens after the waiting. People may die. Blood can be spilled. In this case, a captured ANBU might be violated.

* * *

><p>I'm still. The cool index and thumb of the snake is wrapped firmly around the base of my manhood. The fingers barely touch each other. He watches me. Snake eyes. Watches for my reaction, my thoughts. I stay still. The fingers relax. Slightly. Then grips me again. More firmly. One ragged breath escapes my lips. His lip, on the other hand, curls upwards. Smiling. Knowingly. Again. My cock throbs at the same moment his fingers tighten. Fuck. It's pulsing more regularly now, to the rhythm of his squeezing. And that rhythm is increasing. It's much faster now, but his face remains impassive as he stares down at me. I glare back up at him.<p>

I'm about to speak. He leans down, ear towards my mouth as if to listen to me. Then -

His pinky circles lazily over my left testicle. It's brief, that trace, but it's enough to make me grunt. It happens again. And again. And again. Again. I anticipate it. It doesn't come. Instead, he sheathes the katana, and with his now free hand, gently squeezes the right testicle. A little precum oozes out. I force myself to be still, stay still. Say nothing. Make not even the tiniest of a sound - but this is broken. A groan shakes free of its shackles deep in my body. A ghost of a smirk runs across his face. His stimulations stop.

In the unmoving silence, it's now that I notice I'm breathing hard. I force myself to calm down. Have to relax. But I can't - some say that a man's brain is only in one head at a time. Right now, the head the holds the skull is probably empty. Orochimaru shakes his hand slightly, flinging drops of precum this way and that way from the tip of my member. He tilts his head downward. It's about two and a half feet from the closest part of my body. He opens his mouth. Out comes the tongue.

It's another waiting game. Now I know why some people hate knowing the outcome. Holy Konoha, do I know the outcome. This is what we, ANBU, call mission red. Mission red. Mission red. MISSION RED! There's no one to hear me. The tongue dips down. It's teasing: circling around my cock in some ritual dance of Ring-Around-the-Rosie, or perhaps some impromptu Mary-Go-Round. I gasp. The tongue flicks over the tip of my slit, clearing it of precum. I can't help it. Intervals of time before it comes again. Half a second. One second. Here it comes. Flicks over my slit, again, and again, I gasp. The hand ministrations begin again. It's not just the member now. My entire lower half is warm. It's pulsing on it's own; the tight grasp of his fingers, the flick of his tongue, and the gentle squeezing of my testicles. It's all too much to handle. It's sudden.

The tongue wraps around the tip of my cock in a vice grip, the tip if the tongue flick back and forth atop my tip. At the same time, the vigorous pumping begins. Up, down, up down, his hand moves aggressively over my cock, meeting his tongue, back down to the base. The squeezes are more impatient now, angrily squeezing out the precum that it wants. I can't help it. Vividly, I can hear myself moaning in that bliss and pleasure I know isn't right. I can tell I'm yelling in ecstasy whenever his hands complete a cycle and his tongue touches the slit. It goes on. Five minutes? Ten? Thirty? An hour? I'm moaning. Drool dribbles out of my mouth from the pleasure. I have to come. Now. I must. I clench my eyes shut, tears softly falling down as I get ready.

I blink. There is no contact on any part of me. My breathing is fast, uneven. My member still stands proudly, liquid dribbling out and red-hot. I scan my eyes wildly. He's watching me. Hands behind his back. Tongue back, presumably, in his mouth. I calm down. Fuck. This is a disgusting game. Horrible. I yearn for a touch. Any touch. His touch. My touch. I don't care right now. Like a caged lion, I need my release - badly. He looks at me, blinks thoughtfully.

"I thought I told you," he begins, voice much colder than before, "not to make a sound."

My eyes go wide. Please. I need these arms to be a shinobi. Please. Please. Red. Crimson. Pain. His arm had come out, fast. Kusanagi claims another limb. I'm screaming. This time, it's not pleasure. It hurts. Much more than before.

His voice is soft, almost unheard amidst my screams. "Strike two."


End file.
